


Fire Hunt

by spacehopper



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Anal Fisting, Bottom Elias Bouchard, Burns, Ex Sex, Fire, M/M, Oral Sex, The Desolation, Unusual Erogenous Zones
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-16
Updated: 2020-07-16
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:07:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25294420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacehopper/pseuds/spacehopper
Summary: When the latest statement Jon takes inflames an old wound, he is forced to retreat to Elias's flat, a place he'd never wanted to revisit.
Relationships: Elias Bouchard/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 5
Kudos: 55





	Fire Hunt

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the FFA 10th birthday prompt and fill fest, for the prompt for [Elias/Jon fisting](https://fail-fandomanon.dreamwidth.org/435062.html?thread=2592921462#cmt2592921462).

The terror coated his skin with ash, and it was not enough.

His hands worked over his arms, fingers digging in at the sharp ache of burns that were not his, drawn instead from a statement he’d found in the boiler room with the corners of the pages blackened and curled. 

Amelie Kendall had survived the explosion that had destroyed her workplace. And the following one, that had taken her house, then the fire in the flat that had replaced it. When the gallery went up, she wasn't even surprised, though she still shuddered in horror to see the melted forms of her once beautiful sculptures. Leaping deer and soaring birds. Rabbits, peeking out of their burrows. All of them, warped, their faces caught in twisted screams

It should’ve ended there, but though the statement was at an end, Jon could not help but know more. That if she'd thought to listen more closely, she might've even been able to hear the screams she saw in those twisted mammalian faces. But then, she had no way of knowing her assistant was trapped inside, still somehow alive, to feed those terrible flames just a little longer.

The last trickle of knowledge made Jon's stomach lurch, and he shoved back from his desk, hissing as the palm of his right hand dug too hard into a poorly sanded edge. He stood, turning his palm over and tracing the indent it had left in the burned skin, and shivering at the memory of the encounter that had left him marked.

Feed it. Or it will feed on you.

* * *

Walks had always helped Jon clear his head, long after he'd abandoned the reckless wandering of his childhood. There was a peace to them, one foot in front of the other. With no need for a destination, only the exertion, sometimes going for miles and returning home exhausted, his thoughts finally quiet.

He'd only wanted to clear his head. But even before he rounded the corner onto a normally quiet residential street, he knew he’d find a building ablaze.

Inside, he knew, was Amelie Kendall. A wet towel draped over her shoulders, but it wouldn't save her. Maybe if she got up, if she walked towards the door, fled down the stairs into the cool night, then she might live to mold metal into another forest. But why bother, when it too would burn?

Amelie understood now. Her metal forest was no more solid, no stronger than one of wood and leaves and fur and flesh and flame. There was nothing more she could give, and so she too would be consumed.

The door was unlocked, and the stairs were strong enough that even though Jon hissed in pain as the fire nipped at his clothes, he still made it to the first floor. Inside her flat, the fire was worse, but though it ate at his clothes, and nibbled at his skin, the flesh knit itself too fast. And the tears from the smoke, from the pain, evaporated long before he reached Amelie.

She looked at him blankly, but he didn't need her to see. Jon dragged her to her feet, and she came with him. As resigned to this destruction as any other. It was almost enough to make Jon leave. To stop at patting out her clothes, to call for help, and wait.

But the problem was, her statement hadn’t given them everything.

So instead he guided her to a bench in a nearby park, out of sight of the fire, though the smell of smoke was impossible to escape. Emanating from their clothes, their skin, from the hand he held up for her, asking her if she understood what had happened.

Amelie nodded. And only then did Jon ask.

He could almost pretend that if she hadn't known, he wouldn't have asked all the same.

* * *

His hand was still burning when he left Amelie. She hadn't known the details, hadn’t known what Jon still needed. Of course she hadn't. Oh, he'd been right to think she'd met Jude Perry. An old flame, she'd said with a bitter laugh. In happier days, but Jude was never happy. Jude was always hungry. But that was long ago, and when Jon had asked if she understood what was happening to him, she'd looked at him with pity.

You're hungry too, she'd said.

He stared down at his hand, some streets away. Flexing his fingers, trying to work out the sputtering remnants of pain.

"You okay?"

His head shot up. A couple stared at him from a slight distance away. One leaned towards him, the other held back. Both were scared, but only one was smart. He laughed, and even the braver of the two backed away.

"Damn it," he said under his breath, as they hurried in the opposite direction. Hopefully not calling the police, but given what he had to look like, how he'd reacted, he should assume they would. He needed to get off the streets, needed to change. Beyond the pain in his hand, he wasn't hurt, new burns healing as fast as they'd formed.

But he was conspicuous, and he really didn't want to deal with the inevitable questions he couldn't answer. And even more, he didn't want to risk Basira finding out, if her old police contacts proved chatty.

He scanned the street, alighting on a sign at the end, a name he recognized. Was he really going to do this, after all this time? But then, what other choice did he have? His unburned hand was already in his pocket, wrapping around his keys. For his flat, for the Institute, and for the building he was now striding towards, as bad an idea as that might be.

He'd as good as decided, but still, Jon hesitated when he reached the entrance of that building he knew all too well. He toyed with the keys, staring up at a window that seemed watchful even now. Though that might just be his own fevered imagination. There was no one left to watch from it. But perhaps that didn't matter when its former occupant had always seen too much.

His lips twisted into a bitter smile, and he pulled the keys out of his pocket and unlocked the door. Would Elias be happy, to have Jon run back to his flat? Taking his aid, even without his direct intervention? Or would he view it as an invasion, after all this time. All the distance and the fear and the pain, the offer of comfort spat back in his face in his office.

It had been the right thing to do. The only thing to do. But Jon still couldn't help the twinge of regret, as he stopped in front of that all too familiar white door.

"Last chance to turn back," he muttered to himself. Shoulders tightening as he darted a look down the corridor, waiting for another quizzical stare, a source for the prickling along the back of his neck. But no one was there. No one was ever there.

But someone was always watching.

He slid the key into the lock, and turned it. Holding his breath, waiting for a protest, an accusation that never came, as it opened to reveal a dark, empty flat. He'd wondered more than once why Elias hadn't asked for his keys back. Turned the thought over again and again, a question with only bad answers, and ones he still didn't understand. Might never understand, if Elias had anything to say about it.

But at least he could be useful, for once. He had a bathroom, and hopefully the clothes Jon left behind, when he'd broken things off. Trying to figure out what Elias wanted, how he thought, why he'd even gotten so close to Jon in the first place… It would only drive him mad. Maybe that was the point.

He didn't turn on the light. The layout was familiar, and Elias had always kept the flat meticulously clean. Or more accurately, had paid someone to do it for him. Jon still remembered the first time he'd run into the maid Elias had failed to warn him about, clad only in one of Elias's shirts. He'd stammered an apology and immediately fled back into the bedroom. And when he'd shouted at Elias later, Elias had only laughed, and kissed Jon, and asked him if he'd take breakfast as an apology.

He never should've come here. But he couldn't turn back now.

In the bathroom, it was easier to forget, though harder to ignore how his hand still throbbed with something that felt less and less like pain. Here, he did turn the light on, and was relieved to find towels hanging on the wall, and shampoo and soap in the shower. Like Elias had never left. Or like he intended to come back.

Jon's stomach twisted at the thought. If Elias came back, then he could talk to him, ask him all the questions he'd never answered. Maybe even make him answer, force the words from his lips. But no, no that was wrong, wasn't it? To want to hurt him like that, to hurt anyone. Or maybe it was right, because it was Elias. He deserved it. Jon should hate him.

He reached for the shower handle, letting out a cry of pain as the cool metal of the handle seemed to bite into his burned hand. Stupid to forget, but he’d gotten used to using it like normal again. He staggered back, leaving the shower be for a minute as he knelt down and fumbled with the cabinet where Elias kept first aid supplies, pulling out gauze and burn cream.

He leaned back against the wall, closing his eyes and trying to steady his breathing. The silence filled his ears, with nothing to cut through it, nothing to distract him from the emptiness of the flat. Elias’s walls had always been thick, something Jon had once appreciated. Now he wished he could find any reminder of the world that had to exist outside, oblivious to what might engulf them at any moment. And how little they could do to stop it.

When he opened his eyes again, he reached for the cream. Just a normal burn, or at least it had worked like one at the time, however uncanny its source. Still, he found himself nauseated at the thought of putting the cream on it. Quenching the flames that sparked along his skin. Flames that weren’t his, but that hardly mattered. They'd been given to him. And he'd willingly fed them.

He drew a finger over his palm, and shuddered as the feeling resonated. Flooding his senses, sparking along his nerves until it settled low in his cock. Curiously, he stroked along his palm again, and gasped as his cock responded, filling with obvious interest, even as Jon found himself desperate to look away.

A clatter, and he shot to his feet, scanning the room to see the shampoo bottle had fallen from its holder. Nothing to worry about, but a reminder he couldn't do this. Not here, not now. Not ever. Whatever horrible thing was happening to him now, he needed time. Distance.

Anywhere would be better than here.

He discarded his clothes quickly, kicking them into a corner. They weren't fit for anything but the rubbish bin now, but he'd deal with them later. Or maybe leave them for Elias to deal with. When he stepped into the water, he hissed at the sudden heat, fumbling for the handle to make it cooler. Far colder than he'd normally like. But with what had happened, what kept happening, it was probably for the best.

And the water did feel good, numbing his skin, even seeming to have some small effect on his hand. Though he kept it out of the direct spray, after a brief brush through it had sent another sickening jolt of arousal to his cock. Arousal that hadn’t subsided, despite the freezing water that ran across his skin.

His fingers twitched at his side, and he wondered for a moment what it would feel like. If he took his burned hand, and wrapped it around his cock. Would that fix it? Just a release of all the pressure, the deep and terrible heat that seemed to smolder just underneath his skin. Or would it make it worse, to give into it?

His hand curled into a fist, fingernails digging into the palm, and dragging a moan from his lips. Slowly, carefully, he uncurled his fingers, and forced himself to leave his hand where it was. Better not to touch it, better to get some clothes and go home. Get some sleep. Maybe he’d even sleep here, just in case it got worse. Elias had always had a far better bed than he did anyway.

Before temptation could take him again, Jon used his unburned hand to turn off the shower, reaching for a towel and letting it dangle from his fingers as he considered his options. Wrapping it around his waist would take both hands, and it wasn’t like there was anyone else here. The room outside was dark; no one would see him. Except maybe Elias, watching from afar, but there wasn’t much Jon could do about that.

So he toweled himself off as best he could one handed, biting back a moan and another wave of stinging pleasure as he brushed over his cock. Then he hung the towel back up as neatly as he could manage and headed towards the bedroom. He supposed Elias might’ve gotten rid of his clothes by now, but…no, he didn’t think so. Not that Elias was sentimental, far from it. Only that he had the arrogance to assume that eventually, Jon would come running back.

And he couldn’t say that expectation was wrong, could he? After all, here he was, if not in the way Elias might’ve expected. Still, for once, his arrogance might come in handy.

The bedroom door was slightly ajar, and Jon pushed it open with one hand. He reached for the light, and hesitated. If anyone knew Elias wasn’t supposed to be here, would the light alert them? But then, someone also might've noticed the shower, or Jon entering through the front door. Still, might be best to just use the torch on his phone.

He turned to step back into the hallway, but before he could leave to retrieve it, a hand landed on his shoulder. He yelped, trying to spin around, only to be stopped by an arm reaching across his chest, pulling him flush against a warm, naked body.

"Hello, Jon."

The words murmured into his ear, the amusement as terrible and familiar as the voice that carried it. His eyes fell shut, and he stopped struggling to escape, instead struggling for sense in the tumble of questions that flashed across his mind.

"Elias," he breathed. And suddenly, the arm relaxed, and the man in question stepped back, allowing Jon to turn, to see him painted with moonlight, and smiling softly at Jon even now.

He looked older. Though perhaps that was just the moonlight picking out the silver in his hair, or Jon painting a rosier picture in his mind of a man who’d always seemed ageless. He’d definitely lost weight, never a large man, but not as slender as he was now. The prison food? It seemed strange, but then Elias had always had expensive tastes. 

His heart pounded as Elias drew closer again. Reaching for Jon, hand sliding across his damp skin to cup the back of his neck, dragging his fingers through the short hairs at the base of Jon's skull.

Impossible, he wanted to say, but now that he saw Elias, it seemed inevitable. Would he have come here at all, if some part of him hadn't known? Elias's other hand found Jon's hip, pulling him closer still, and when Jon pressed against him, it felt sickeningly right.

“How are you here? You were in prison, and—” And did it matter at all? It seemed ridiculous, in retrospect. To think that prison could contain someone like Elias.

“House arrest,” Elias said lightly, hand moving now to cup Jon’s face, sweeping a thumb under one of his eyes. “I’ve been granted a special dispensation, of sorts.”

Jon felt something tap his leg, and looked down to see the heavy plastic of an electronic monitoring tag wrapped around Elias’s ankle.

“Since when do they do house arrest for murder?” His burned hand curled into a fist again, and he hoped Elias didn’t notice the bit back moan as Jon forced himself to relax. Though even if he missed that, he could hardly miss the cock that was now nearly touching his body. “I suppose you blackmailed someone.”

“Oh, Jon,” Elias said, pressing a kiss to Jon’s temple. A move that did make Jon’s cock brush his skin, though this time he managed to stifle his reaction, teeth digging into his tongue. “I simply asked for a concession, in return for some valuable information. I don’t have any reason to run, and I find this far more comfortable than prison. Though I’ll admit, I didn’t expect you.”

“What, you didn’t see me coming?” He stared into Elias’s eyes, and licked his lips, the next question sparking along his tongue. “Did you make me come here?”

“No. I had no idea until you entered the flat. Though I suspect my presence did draw you here.” His eyes widened, in what seemed to be genuine shock, before catching himself with a rueful laugh. “You truly have grown powerful, haven’t you?”

Jon flushed, turning his head as best he could, as if that would make a difference with Elias touching him, with their bodies pressed together like this. He needed to get away, needed to tell Elias to let him go. And then he could drown himself in dreams of familiar terrors and try to wash away this terrible, wonderful uncertainty.

“What do you mean, your presence drew me here?” Again, he layered it with the sweet string of compelling and was rewarded with a shudder from Elias. Who shifted, making all too clear his own growing interest in their encounter.

“As you become stronger, so does our connection. It might not have been conscious, though I suspect that’s partly because you still insist on increasingly absurd denials.” Jon opened his mouth to protest, but the words died in his throat as Elias stroked his fingers over Jon’s vocal chords, and brushed his lips with a far too brief kiss. “Also, I was dreaming of you.”

“What?” It wasn’t really a question. After all, it wasn’t that weird, was it? Creepy, certainly, but then it was hardly creepier than Elias’s constant surveillance. Or Jon’s own watchful dreams, though as far as he remembered, they did not include Elias.

“Is that truly a surprise? You were the one who insisted things end.” His hand tightened around Jon's hip, and he looked almost longing. Ridiculous. Another act, another lie, to manipulate Jon, control him. Use him and consume him as surely as tinder for a fire.

“Because you’re a murderer! And some sort of horrible eldritch avatar, if murderer alone isn’t enough. And you trapped people, trapped me, and—”

Elias kissed him again, and damn him, Jon gave in. Some part of him, maybe the part that drew them together, or maybe just the part that was desperately lonely, wanted to give in. To feel Elias’s hand, pressing gently into his hair. His tongue, teasing Jon’s lips. And his other hand, brushing Jon’s fingers, a brilliant spark Jon had not processed enough to protest before he took Jon’s hand in his.

The response was immediate, a wave of pleasure more intense than before, breaking their kiss as Jon sagged against Elias, caught in his arms as he helped Jon over to the bed. Where he settled Jon on his lap, and Jon couldn’t find it in himself to protest, not when Elias was the only thing holding him up under the onslaught of sensation.

Before he could do more than say Elias's name, Jon’s hand was in his again. This time, it was less overwhelming, as he quickly adjusted his grip to Jon’s wrist, where only the barest remnants of Jude’s mark graced his skin. The look he was giving it was one of surprise, and equally unsurprising curiosity. Staring at it as if he could see the workings of it with his eyes alone. Maybe he could.

“What do you see? If you can tell me what happened, how to stop it, maybe you’d actually be useful for once.” Jon tugged at his hand, more to make his point clear than to offer any real resistance. It wasn’t like it’d be convincing anyway, with how easily he’d fallen into Elias’s grasp. The thought was enough to make him squirm regardless, only to be contained by Elias's arm.

“Oh, I’m quite useful now, don’t you think?” His lips curled up into a sly smile, and his thumb swept over the palm of Jon’s hand, making him shiver. “Unless you don’t appreciate my help.” He glanced down pointedly at Jon’s all too prominent erection.

Jon swallowed, and struggled against a wave of shame and yes, desire. He shouldn't want to be here, shouldn't let Elias stroke his hand like that, feather light settling like embers upon his skin. Nor should he want to lean closer, to look into his eyes until there was nothing to do but burn up in the terror he found there. Not even the solid weight of his arm, still encircling Jon's back.

"Just tell me what's happening to me. To my hand. I don't want any of your vague non-answers." Though maybe now...would Elias resist? Could he resist? Was his previous response a willing concession, or was it true that Jon had grown powerful enough to push past whatever barriers Elias might have?

His heart sped up at the idea, and he wished he could say it was only an eagerness to finally have some control over his own life, to have some power. To take from Elias what he wouldn't willingly give. And it was that, in part. What he should feel, and want.

But he couldn't deny the desire to see that look of fondness in Elias's eyes, the pride in Jon. Something he should have long discarded along with all other desires relating to Elias. But he'd never been as good as he should be at learning from his mistakes. At least when that experience told him to run away, rather than throw himself into the inferno once more.

"These things don't work with solid rules. And no, I'm not saying that to annoy you." He laughed softly, placing a kiss under Jon's eye as his brow tightened, and he fidgeted in Elias's grasp. "It bothered me too, for a long time. But it's how things are, and it's best to understand what rules you're working with. The logic of dreams, and apparently, those dreams have led us here."

Fingers still clutching Jon's wrist, he slowly lifted Jon's hand towards his face. And Jon didn't stop him. Couldn't stop him, not caught as he was in Elias's fervid gaze, breath stuttering in his throat as he waited for something that now almost seemed inevitable, as Elias brought his lips gently to Jon's palm.

The first, delicate touch was barely more than a tickle, but even that was enough to make Jon whimper. A sound that turned into a moan as Elias's tongue darted out to trace his palm, cool and wonderful against his heated skin. But of course Elias couldn't—wouldn't—leave things like that. And so with his eyes still locked on Jon's, he slowly slid two of Jon's fingers into his mouth.

Given the sound he made next, Jon couldn't help but be grateful for the knowledge that Elias's walls were thick, and that his neighbors slept soundly. Particularly with Elias seeming to have no desire to stop, drawing Jon's hand deeper, and sucking on the all too tender digits. It wasn't the same as Elias sucking his cock. It was so much worse, and far better. His tongue curled, and Jon felt the memory of flame course through him, the hints of a terrible pain that was harder not to feel as anything except another sort of ecstasy. Much like the ecstasy he felt as Elias’s eyes raked over him, and Jon knew he saw too much.

Elias drew Jon's fingers out, letting them drag along his tightly pressed lips. Jon tried to turn in his arms, seeking more contact, more friction, though all other sensation faded in the face of the intensity of Elias's lips around his fingers, at his caresses along the palm of Jon's hand. So it barely mattered that Elias's arm tightened, holding Jon in place on his lap, as he pulled Jon's hand free, and blew air over the wet skin.

“Elias—” Stop, he wanted to say, but the lie was in his own actions, as he tried to push his hand back towards Elias’s mouth, only to be halted by a firm grip on his wrist, and the press of lips to his brow.

“I have a better idea.”

Before Jon could assemble his scattered thoughts into a question, Elias started to stand. Manhandling Jon to his feet, only to push him down to sit on the bed as Elias walked around to the other side, and reached into the top drawer of the bedside table. Then he lay down on the other side of the bed, and extended a hand to Jon. Holding a bottle that he shook significantly when Jon failed to do more than stare at it blankly.

Jon finally took it with his unburned hand, not bothering to look at the label as he crawled between Elias’s spread legs, gasping as he lost his balance, and his burned hand brushed the crumpled duvet. It was nothing like Elias’s mouth, somehow rough though he knew the weave was expensive. And not nearly enough. He shoved the duvet off the bed, and sat back on his legs, considering the bottle before him with a frown.

“Is this really what you want? How is this better? I—” He licked his lips, thumb moving over the peeling label, trying to think of a way to say it that wouldn’t sound insane. That he didn’t want to fuck Elias, not like that, not when something still burned in the flesh and bone and sinew of his hand. Desperate to be fed, to be unleashed. “Elias.” The name a plea to understand what Jon could not.

“Oh, Jon. I don't want your cock. Well, not now, at least.” Elias smiled at him, giving his burned hand a far too smug look. His meaning all too clear, and one that should’ve occurred to Jon before. One that made him flush, despite how obvious it was in retrospect. Of course that was what he wanted. What they both needed. 

His eyes swept over Elias again. The moonlight shouldn’t be bright enough to illuminate him so, but perhaps it wasn’t the moonlight allowing Jon to see. Marking the dark circles under his eyes, and way his chest rose and fell too quickly. There was more grey in his hair than before, and somehow Jon knew that he could change that. Stop it. 

Feed the sputtering flame. 

He stared down at his burned hand again. Would it hurt? Elias’s mouth already had been overwhelming, and this—this was something else. The pressure, the heat…but maybe that was exactly what he needed.

“Fight fire with fire,” Jon said softly, and was rewarded with a laugh.

“An interesting way to look at it. Perhaps too literal, but then…” He pushed himself up on one elbow, and reached for Jon. And Jon, damn himself, was reaching out before he could stop. Brushing his burned fingers against Elias’s unblemished ones. And wanting so much more.

Before he could lose his nerve, he scooted closer to Elias, setting the bottle on the mattress and gently pushing Elias’s thighs further apart, trying to pretend he wasn’t simply delaying when he grasped one leg under the knee and pulled it up, before sitting back to consider it. Elias pulled his other leg up, feet flat on the bed, then sighed, and tossed Jon a pillow. Lifting his hips obligingly as Jon got the message, and pushed it under his hips. 

His unburned hand found Elias’s knee again, stroking along the skin as Elias settled back, and waved a hand at Jon. A gesture that made Jon sigh, and roll his eyes. But still, not stop.

His teeth dug into his lip as he picked the bottle back up and considered how to approach it. Would it be better to go slowly? Or would that overwhelm him, leaving him a wreck, unable to do anything but take what Jon would give him? Except no, even with all Elias had done, he didn’t truly want to hurt him. 

“I can take it, Jon,” Elias said gently. "I want it."

Jon glared at him. “I wasn’t worried about you.” Another lie, so blatant Elias laughed again, and Jon refused to meet his eyes.

It wasn’t exactly revenge, doing exactly what Elias wanted. But he still felt a thrill at what was to come, as he squirted lube over his burnt hand, rubbing it over his fingers as he struggled against the sparks of pleasure even that small gesture brought. If it felt like this to him, how would it feel to Elias? Would it ruin him, sear him clean and bright and new, for Jon to fill with all the swirling terror he didn’t yet comprehend? And if he did that, would any of this finally make sense?

He took a shaky breath, and circled Elias’s hole with his now slick fingers, his other hand slipping down to press against Elias’s thigh, and bracing his shoulder against the other, pushing his legs further apart. Before Elias could decide to say anything else, Jon pushed three fingers inside. 

Elias actually moaned, a sound so sudden, so unguarded Jon knew it had to be genuine. And underneath it, he heard his own moan in response as Elias’s hips lifting off the bed, thrusting towards Jon, trying to take his fingers deeper, his body clenching around Jon so hot and tight and terrible and not nearly enough. 

As Jon managed to regain control of himself, the flare settling into a low, throbbing ache, his eyes swept over Elias again. Noting how his breathing was coming faster than ever, how one of his hands gripped the sheets, while the other dug into the muscle of his thigh. 

His face, Jon couldn’t see, neck thrown back, the angle of his body and the shifting shadows of the room hiding his expression. Jon leaned forward, his fingers sliding deeper, making Elias gasp and writhe against them, only stopping when he could finally see Elias’s face.

Eyes open and wild, mouth twisted into a clear expression of pain. Jon had been worried, before. But now this seemed right. Inevitable. To burn, or be destroyed in the fire of their own making. 

He sat back, and Elias’s eyes followed him, his neck craning and his lips curving into a smile, before parting in a gasp as Jon pulled out, thrusting in again. Each motion sending pinpricks of bright, terrible pleasure through them, heat flowing through Jon’s skin, and his cock throbbing in response.

Slowly, his own eyes were drawn away from Elias’s face and to his own hand. It had probably been too much, too fast to start with three. And with no warning, though if Elias hadn’t read Jon’s thoughts, understood his intent, then surely some of the fault lay with him. After all, what was the point of omniscience if you refused to use it? But even if the initial breach had been unexpected, it was clear Elias had adjusted, stretched so easily around those three digits, engulfing the already warm flesh and igniting it further. 

Jon’s free hand found the one Elias had clenched around his own thigh, covering it, palm pressed over the back. Feeling it relax, splaying over the skin as Jon took a deep breath, and found Elias’s eyes again. 

He leaned over Elias, fingers pushed in as far as he was able, stopped by his remaining digits as he dragged his gaze over Elias’s sweat-damp face, and waited for the command that was sure to issue from his lips.

“More.”

His lips were parted, eyes wild with a hunger Jon hadn’t seen from him before. A hunger that part of him, buried deep and increasingly shriveled, wanted to ignore. To reject. To turn away from.

If only he could close his eyes.

But it was so hard to think, so hard to feel anything but the heat of his fingers as he withdrew from Elias, feeling his hand tremble underneath Jon’s, watching the wall his body closed again. Not as tightly as before, and he would open even more for Jon yet. He lifted his unburned hand from Elias’s, plucking the bottle from the sheets shakily, and coated his burned hand in more lube. Smoothing it over each finger, eyes locked with Elias. Barely breathing. Maybe not breathing at all.

This time, he teased more, fingers barely breaching Elias before he pulled back again, while his other hand ran up and down Elias’s inner thigh. Drinking in the way Elias tensed at each brief penetration, the noises of disappointment when Jon failed to follow through. But he seemed content to wait, lifting his head again to smile at Jon, dark and satisfied, tongue darting out to dampen bitten red lips. 

Jon pressed his mouth to Elias’s thigh, nipping it and smiling as he felt the muscle twitch, before turning his head to press his cheek to it, allowing him to watch four fingers finally slide further in. Slower than before, stopping after each painful inch. Watching avidly at the way Elias could not stop him, even as he shuddered and tensed around Jon, muscles fluttering, tightening around his fingers. But he parted for Jon, muscle giving no more resistance than Elias’s mind, his secrets pulled from his lips. Each time his body tensed, it was only more wonderful for how it echoed through Jon’s skin, igniting the embers that were etched across his hand, making him moan and shudder in turn. 

Too much, after a time, the process slow enough to be agonizing as Jon stopped at the second knuckle and struggled to catch his breath. 

“Are you doing that on purpose?” Jon pushed his fingers apart slightly, forcing the stretch and making Elias groan, and shift, drawing Jon’s fingers deeper as he panted and looked at Jon with an unguarded terror, cut through with an ecstasy Jon knew was reflected in his own eyes.

“Not—” He gasped when Jon crooked his fingers, head tilting back into the pillows and leaving the column of his neck exposed and vulnerable. “Stop that.” His eyes found Jon’s again, with a look more fond than irritated. “If you want a real answer.”

“Fine.” Jon let out a noise of his own, as Elias clenched down hard around his fingers. The jolt echoed through him. The longer this had gone on, the easier it had become to control his response. A reminder, then, that Jon still wasn’t the one who held all the power here.

At least not yet.

“No, it wasn’t entirely intentional," Elias continued. "I told you, our bond is growing stronger as you grow more powerful. And right now—” He laughed, a sound that turned into a strangled moan as Jon pushed suddenly deeper, letting his hand slide in as far as it would go without his thumb. “The power is intoxicating, isn’t it?”

Despite the heat building between them, the words send a cold wave of shame through Jon. Enough for him to pull his hand entirely free, leaving Elias to gasp at the sudden flare of sensation, his fingers dragging over the sensitive rim. 

Jon stared down at his hand, distantly noting the sound of Elias panting, for once unable to speak the words he usually found so easily. His skin was red, and wet. And it seemed to almost...glow, though not with any light. Instead it held a furious, devouring flame. One he might yet burn to ash, inside the all too fragile body of the man who had warped him into what he was. 

He folded his thumb against his palm, and again pressed his fingers to Elias’s hole. The first ones now slipping in so easily, his body eager to take what Jon had to give. To swallow the horror, entomb it for a purpose Jon didn’t yet know. Wouldn’t know, if he didn’t push. 

“Jon, please—” The pain coloring Elias’s words was genuine, but the plea wasn’t. Not really, not when he could feel that same echo of pain, how the only way to make it right was to go further, to go deeper. To let the flames engulf them both, burning in the stolen echo of warmth.

Still.

"Do you want me to stop?" The words burned his lips, and when Jon's tongue darted out, he tasted ash.

"No, Jon.” He threw his head back and laughed, uncontrolled as the dancing flames. “It's not enough." His own answer seemed to surprise him, though he was no less eager for it as he clutched desperately at the sheets, waiting for Jon to do what they both wanted. Both needed.

The initial stretch of his fingers came easier this time, and he stopped the second knuckle, rubbing the tip of his thumb gently along the rim, a promise of what was to come. Then he leaned over Elias, his eyes fixed on him as his lips brushed the tip of Elias’s cock. Sliding his lips over it, as his hand slowly followed, Elias tightening around him and pulling a moan from Jon, the vibrations cascading along his own neglected cock as he felt what Elias did briefly, mingled with the heat that radiated from his hand. 

Looking into Elias’s eyes now, they seemed distant. As if he were looking elsewhere. With a start, Jon realized he knew exactly where they were looking, as he sat back, leaving Elias’s cock damp with spit and precome, to look down at his hand, stretching Elias’s hole ever wider.

He sucked in air through his nose, and smelled smoke. But they were in no danger from their stolen terror. No, it was theirs to use, to keep and hide and hold. And Elias wanted to watch it, as Jon wrote the fear into his flesh, letting him drink deep of the words he’d collected. 

Behind his eyes, he knew Elias delighted at the way his body took Jon, as Jon pushed further inside. The gasps of pain only the purest expression of what they’d taken, shot through with a brilliant rightness as Jon’s hand slowly reached the widest point. 

And then he stopped. Marvelling at it, using his other hand to draw a finger around the rim, a light touch Elias responded to, jerking and tightening around him. Jon moaned in response, his own neglected cock throbbing, jumping at the sensation. 

“Keep going, Jon.” The tremor in Elias’s voice was unexpected, but as Jon lifted his head again to meet Elias’s eyes, his wide smile was everything Jon hated, and all he couldn’t help but want.

Couldn't stop becoming.

So he kept his hand where it was, knowing it hurt and knowing that he loved it, that Elias loved it. And that underneath that, there was the slightest tremor of true terror. Not stale, worn smooth and dry and brittle by the passage of years upon years upon fears. But the true knowledge that someday, Jon might be enough to turn the echo of fear onto Elias. And that this might be the fire that consumed him.

Perhaps consumed them both.

The certainty sat uncomfortably with him, knowledge that sparked through his mind, seemed to pulse along his flesh with each shudder of Elias’s body. His hips bucked, and he let out of cry as he tensed around Jon. Jon turned his attention back to Elias’s cock, depriving him of the vision, leaving him only to feel the hot stretch of it as Jon took his cock back into his mouth. Sucking on it, sliding along the heated length, taking it more and more even as his hand remained at the precipice. Deeper, until the cock hit the back of his throat, and all Jon could do was swallow, and swallow again. Running his fingers down his own throat, and staring into the watchful depths of Elias’s eyes.

And all he saw was himself.

“Jon.”

Quiet, but not because Elias was in control. Only because Jon had taken his breath, stuffed Elias’s throat as surely as he’d filled his own. Elias’s fingers found his hair, and tugged hard. Jon swallowed again, and felt Elias tremble, and cry out once more as he came, spurting against the back of Jon’s throat. His hand tightened in Jon’s hair, as Jon drank down the aftershocks, tasted the sweet memories of fear, and felt Elias’s cock begin to soften.

And then, he began to move his hand again. Listening as Elias panted, eyes half-lidded but open, always open. Watching Jon, and craning his neck to try and see Jon’s hand alight, and burning its way into him. He tugged weakly at Jon’s hair, but Jon only pressed his lips tighter around Elias’s oversensitive cock. And then pushed his hand fully inside.

He gasped, waiting for the relief that did not come. His eyelids fluttered, fingers responding in kind, pressing into Elias’s skin, writing a litany of screams that no one would ever hear again but them. And Elias responded, the muscles of his thigh twitching against Jon’s shoulder, clenched around him again.

But it still was not enough.

He sat back, leaving his hand where it was, and met Elias’s eyes again as he let Elias's cock slip out, question already on his lips.

“What’s wrong? What happened?” His voice cracked, breaking into a moan as Elias tensed around him, and Jon only felt the briefest flickers of the ache recede, before it roared back again. His own cock bobbed, brushing his arm, and he reached for it with his free hand, fingers nearly wrapping around it before Elias finally spoke.

“Tell me what you saw, Jon.”

Of course. The words spilled from his lips as his hand fell from his cock to rest on Elias’s thigh, fingernails digging into the muscle. The unnatural burning of the building, the woman who had long stopped screaming, knowing that her fate was already sealed. There was nothing left to take from her, no desolation she could suffer that had not already stripped her bare. It was done with her.

But the Eye wasn’t.

Jon’s fingers twitched with memory, and Elias responded in kind. This time, heat flared again, stronger now as it cascaded over Jon’s skin, twinned with the memory of the fire licking along his arms. Consuming her life, consuming what she loved, consuming everything she was. But not quite. Not yet.

He needed to know, and so he asked, and twisted inside Elias, fingers working. Elias shuddered around him, and Jon thought he might’ve moaned if he could. But his lips were pressed shut, and while Jon spoke, he could not break the statement. Between them, the fire was building anew, the flames seeming to flicker in the room around them. Memories pulled from his head, magnified by Elias, cresting higher and higher as Jon’s hand rubbed along Elias’s tender flesh, as he burned and burned and Elias could do nothing but watch, and drink his terror in.

Finally, he spoke of how he pulled her from that end, stole her for them. The knowledge he needed—they needed—so desperately, his hand rubbing circles in Elias’s thigh, and leaving ashy marks in his wake that only seemed to make Elias more rapt. In his eyes, Jon saw the flickering of flames, and in his hand, he felt the burn of what was to come. What he could not yet name.

A question he needed to ask, but the statement wouldn’t let him, tearing the final words from his lips, all her despair set into the perfect words as Jon found himself crying out, and Elias pulled him into those eyes, into his body, into his very soul. Clenching around him, and sending a pulse to Jon’s cock, which spurted across their sweat-damp bodies.

And Jon was left with his hand engulfed in Elias, and with no more answers than before. Only the cold certainty that whatever he was becoming, it was something that Elias might yet fear. That in time, it might be Elias who burned. And when it came—

The thought flickered out, and Jon shivered at the sudden chill. He began to extract his hand, watching as Elias's hole began to stretch again. Slowly, as if reluctant to let Jon go, to douse that stolen flame.

Fingers grabbed his wrist, and Jon's eyes flicked up. Elias was staring at him, hair clinging to his sweat damp forehead. Lips working as he tried to form a word Jon already understood, even as Jon's hand again reached the widest stretch.

“More.”


End file.
